


Sherlollipops - Figuring It Out

by MizJoely



Series: 221 Sherlollipops [111]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Omegaverse, Romance, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 21:15:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5348759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An omegaverse take on a popular post-HLV trope: Moriarty has taken Molly hostage, but when she takes him out, how will Sherlock react?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlollipops - Figuring It Out

**Author's Note:**

> I have a ton of WIPs I should be working on...so naturally all my brain does is whisper “Omegaverse AU” to me. Rated T, surprisingly enough considering it’s omegaverse. Mentions of bloodshed and the death of a not-so-beloved character (you KNOW it’s not Sherlock or Molly, never fear!). Told entirely from John’s POV.

Molly’s hand trembled as she lowered it to her side, her finger still on the trigger that had ended Jim Moriarty’s life once and for all. She was white as a sheet, her lips trembling and brown eyes wide and blank, as if her own soul had fled along with that of her tormentor.

John was the first to move, hurrying to her side, stepping over Moriarty’s body as he did so. Sherlock picked up the dead man’s gun, joining the others as John urged Molly to move. “We have to get to cover, his men will have heard the gunshot and be after us,” Sherlock growled. His scent mingled with that of the gunpowder, harsh and acrid to John’s nose. Molly flinched a little, her eyes still unfocused, and John laid a comforting arm over her shoulder as she took a halting step.

“Come on, Molly, Sherlock’s right, we have to get out of here,” he said, pitching his voice low and soothing. His own scent was still spiked with adrenaline from their dire situation, but by going into ‘bedside manner’ mode, it would quickly mellow into something more calming for the little Omega trembling in his hold.

He glanced over at Sherlock, whose eyes were moving restlessly around the room, assessing the most likely direction from which a threat might arrive and what their best alternative route would be to take. There were four doors, and John followed when Sherlock began moving toward the one farthest from them. “It leads to the lower levels, they won’t be expecting that. Hold on!” Sherlock exclaimed, and John stopped obediently, instinct to follow an Alpha’s command so bred into his DNA that he couldn’t have ignored his friend if he tried. Molly had also stopped, but her shaking was increasing and John was beginning to worry about her. She’d just killed a man, and even though she was accustomed to death in all its forms, she wasn’t a killer.

Not like him, and not like Sherlock. Who had sprinted across the cavernous space, stopping in each doorway for a few seconds before hurrying on to the next. Laying a false scent trail to confuse things just a few minutes or seconds longer. Hopefully enough time for them to get out of this predicament, which the now-dead Alpha had caused when he’d taken Molly hostage. Too bad he’d underestimated her determination never to be used by him again. Well, too bad for him, anyway. Extremely good for John and Sherlock and Molly herself.

Once Sherlock rejoined them they hurried down the hall, Molly moving automatically, obeying every barked command from him as he led them farther and farther from Moriarty’s body. When they reached the lowest level, with no sound of pursuit behind them, John understood Sherlock’s reasoning: the stench of the sewers would overwhelm even the most sensitive of noses, and their trail would be lost. 

He helped Molly through the small door Sherlock had forced open, some kind of maintenance hatch, and watched as the other man shoved it closed. He pulled out the pocket torch he’d learned to always carry with him and shielded it with one hand so no light would show beneath the narrow line of the metal door. 

“Do you have a signal?” he asked when Sherlock pulled his mobile from his coat pocket.

The Alpha shook his head. “No, but if the message I sent to Lestrade got through, I estimate it’ll take them about an hour to get here. Damn! Too long, even with our scents covered and us hidden away, any sort of a systematic search will eventually get us found.”

“I-I left it…my mobile, it – it was in his p-pocket.” Molly’s teeth were chattering, and John pulled her closer, but her skin was pale and clammy and he knew she was going into shock. “Th-there’s a signal in that room, I p-pressed the emergency call button and left it on when, when I p-pushed him away from me and g-grabbed his g-g-g…” 

She couldn’t seem to get the word out, and John gently said, “Right, when you grabbed his gun. That was quick thinking Molly, and very brave.”

“Amazingly quick thinking and incredibly brave,” Sherlock corrected him, his eyes lingering on Molly approvingly. His small smile turned into a frown as she shuddered and dropped her face into her hands.

“She’s going into shock,” John said, feeling her shuddering increase. He looked up at Sherlock. “Give me your coat.”

Sherlock’s head snapped up at the command, clearly fighting what his instincts perceived as a threat from his Beta friend. “What? Why?”

“Because she’s going into shock,” John reminded him, wrapping his arms more firmly around Molly. She was shaking even harder, and her scent had morphed into something cold and sharp. “Aside from the fact that she needs the extra warmth, you’re an Alpha she…trusts,” he continued, changing the word he’d been about to say at the last minute. “Your scent will help calm her.” As clearly his own was failing to do.

Sherlock blinked twice, and John was about to snap that now wasn’t the time to go into buffering mode, when the other man became a blur of motion. Sherlock pulled his coat off and handed it to John, who wrapped it around Molly’s trembling form; then he yanked his scarf from around his neck, tossing that to John as well before starting to unbutton the top buttons of his dress shirt.

“What the hell are you doing?” John demanded as Sherlock stepped over to them, shouldering his friend out of the way and lifting Molly into his arms.

“You said my scent would help, so I’m giving her access to the place where it’s strongest,” Sherlock replied simply. He bent his head and whispered to her, “Molly, just breathe, can you do that for me? Just breathe.” He shifted her a bit so that her head was resting against the juncture of neck and shoulder.

“Sherlock, you ass, you can’t do that, it’s too much like an invitation to mating!” John protested, even as Molly wrapped her arms around Sherlock’s neck and nuzzled his throat. She took several deep, shuddering breaths, but even in the dim light John could see that she wasn’t shaking nearly as badly. 

Sherlock continued to murmur quietly to her, looking up only once to glare at John. “For God’s sake, John, stop watching us and keep an eye on the door!”

They stayed that way for a tense fifteen minutes, Sherlock eventually kneeling down on the cold cement floor, but careful to keep Molly cradled against the warmth of his body. When the door burst open, John was relieved to see that it was by riot-armored Met officers, led by Greg Lestrade and Sally Donovan.

Sherlock refused to let Molly go even for a minute, not until the Beta EMTs insisted they needed to examine her. He stood outside the ambulance, shifting impatiently, his eyes never leaving her huddled form on the stretcher.

Enough, John decided, was enough. “All right, Sherlock, would you mind explaining to me what the hell you thought you were doing in there?”

“Helping her,” he replied absently, still gazing at Molly. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

John grabbed him by the shoulder and forced him around to face him, meeting glower for glower and fighting very hard not to present his throat at the dangerous spike in Sherlock’s scent. “No, I wanted you to give her your coat. You know how an Omega is likely to react to personal scent sharing!” He gestured at his neck. “Why get the poor girl’s hopes up for no reason?”

Sherlock returned his attention to Molly, who was quietly answering the EMT’s questions. She looked up at one point and locked gazes with Sherlock, then quickly lowered her eyes. “Because it wasn’t for no reason, John. It was because I’m tired of fighting it all the time.”

“Fighting what?” John asked, eyes narrowed. He took what he hoped was an unobtrusive sniff, finding Sherlock’s scent extremely difficult to read. Just as difficult as the damned man’s expression. 

Instead of answering him, Sherlock stepped back over to the ambulance, clambering inside in spite of the male EMT’s protest. “She’s my mate,” he growled, and the Beta hurriedly stepped out of his way. Sherlock sat on the bench next to Molly’s gurney, taking her hand firmly in his and bending his head to murmur something John couldn’t hear no matter how he strained his ears. It didn’t help that Lestrade came up to him and asked what was going on; John shushed him and the two men stared unabashedly at the pair sat in the ambulance.

Whatever it was Sherlock had said was greeted with a soft exclamation as Molly leaned up and threw her arms around him. He returned the embrace, which swiftly morphed into a kiss, and John’s eyebrows rose as he realized Sherlock wasn’t just claiming Molly as his mate so he could speak to her; the bloody fool actually meant it! He shook his head as Lestrade walked up to him. The two of them watched as the ambulance doors were closed; Molly and Sherlock were still embracing although the female EMT appeared to be attempting to get her to lie back down for the ride to the hospital.

“Well,” Lestrade said as the ambulance pulled away, “took him long enough to figure things out.”

John nodded, still somewhat at a loss for words. “Yeah,” he finally said. “I’m just glad he figured it out before it was too late.”

Of course, having Sherlock Holmes as a mate wasn’t going to be easy, but if Molly Hooper wanted easy she’d never have decided on a career as challenging as pathology. Somehow, John suspected, the two of them were going to do just fine.


End file.
